The low ebb is descending A rhyme from a pop song Reverberates the background It’s melodic chant daring her lower Tiredness all around no respite Sleep deprivation increases the tome No good news war sickness No puppy dog tales only poverty Take it to the chorus litany of woe Shutters coming down Closing up shop Humanity good bye Sign off gone for a while I’ll be in bed Rhythmic clapping Stomping feet C’mon Eileen Darkness surrounds No white light Judgement descends how long to stay Am I ready to depart or interlude Difficult decision in trance-like mode Get it wrong county homeward bound Heaven can wait let’s breathe in
This was written some time ago, based on the song “how low can you go” which in turn was about that game where you shimmy under a stick, going lower and lower. I thought it interesting to have such an upbeat tune in my head whilst writing about my friend’s depression. She would descend into the pit for weeks, not opening even her curtains, not getting dressed or washed, eating very little and scared of being cast into the local mental institution. She always thought she would die in such a place so would drag herself up out of the pit before the “sheriff” turned up at her door. She may well have been a prophetess, as she did indeed die in the county home of natural causes at an appropriate age, but what she was most scared of, of entering the home, when the time came for her to pack she actually looked quite excited about the prospect. She was a lovely quiet, shy soul and I miss her sometimes when the weather turns grey and I wonder “How low could I go?”
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